Relapse
by GoldenNickel
Summary: Sherlock relapses and ends up in the hospital. One Shot. Hints of Johnlock, but could also be taken as strictly platonic. Rated T for drug use.


Sherlock sat on the couch, his head in his hands and his elbows propped up on his knees. The needle was lying on the table in front of him, waiting to be used. He stared at it and soon he found himself rubbing the inner crook of his elbow, where old scars from previous injections still remained.

_Freak,_ Sally Donovan's insult flickered around inside his head.

_Psychopath, _Anderson's voice sneered.

Sherlock scowled and scolded himself for letting the insults affect him so much. The words brought back harsh memories from Sherlock's childhood.

* * *

_"He's not normal." Mrs. Holmes said to her husband._

_ An eight year old Sherlock sat on the floor of his bedroom, leaning against the wall near the door, listening to his parents' whispered conversation._

_ "There's nothing we can do about it. If we brought him to the hospital and he was diagnosed with some mental disorder, then the whole neighborhood would find out that our son's a freak."_

_ "He can't grow up like this," Mrs. Holmes insisted, "He hasn't got any friends, he hardly talks to anyone except Mycroft, and he's always doing those _experiments_ of his."_

_ "We'll have to find some other way to fix him," Mr. Holmes said, "If the neighbors found out…"_

_ Mrs. Holmes let out a sigh. "I know, dear."_

* * *

_ "Mycroft, do I need to be fixed?" Sherlock asked his older brother. The 15 year old looked away from his book and stared down at Sherlock in shock._

_ "No, Sherlock, who told you that?"_

_ "I heard mummy and daddy talking last night. They said I need to be fixed."_

_ "There's nothing wrong with you, Sherlock," Mycroft said, "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."_

_ The young boy smiled up at his brother and settled down on the floor next to Mycroft's chair and watched his older brother read._

* * *

_ "SHERLOCK!" His father's angry voice echoed through the house, causing the twelve year old to jump. His bedroom door swung open and slammed into the wall and Mr. Holmes glared down at his youngest son._

_ "What have I told you about going into my study?!" his father shouted._

_ "I'm sorry," Sherlock said in a small voice, "I just wanted a book. I didn't mean to-."_

_ Sherlock's words were cut short by his father's swift hand making contact with his cheek._

_ "Listen hear, you little freak. I don't care what you wanted," Mr. Holmes snarled, "You never go into my study again, do you understand?"_

_ "Yes, father," Sherlock said, biting back his tears._

* * *

In an attempt to dull his senses before more memories came, Sherlock snatched the needle up from the table and rolled up his sleeve. The injection is painless; it's just something he's grown used to over the years. He let out a happy sigh as the drug enters his bloodstream.

* * *

John arrived back at 221B Baker Street and climbed the stairs slowly, thinking about the disaster of a date he had just been a part of. His thoughts were lost when he opened the door and found Sherlock lying on the couch unconscious, the needle still in his hand.

"Sherlock!" he exclaimed, rushing to his friend's side. John shook Sherlock harshly, but the consulting detective remained unresponsive. John quickly pulled his mobile from his pocket and dialed a number.

* * *

Greg Lestrade was woken by the shrill sound of his phone receiving a call. Groggily he glanced at the clock and noted with some annoyance that it was nearly 1 AM.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade," he said, holding back a yawn.

"Greg." John's frantic voice quickly snapped Lestrade to attention.

"Is Sherlock okay?" the detective inspector asked, his voice filled with worry.

"I- I don't know," John said, his voice sounding panicked, "He's breathing, but barely. I think the moron's gone and overdosed. I can't lift him on my own. I need your help to get him to Bart's."

"I'm on my way," Greg said, quickly changing into a pair of jeans, pulling on his jacket, and rushing out the front door, "John, I'll be right there. Just calm down, okay?"

"I'll calm down when Sherlock's okay," John breathed through the phone before disconnecting the line.

* * *

"Is he okay?" John demanded when the doctor entered the waiting room.

"He's stable," the doctor confirmed, "He'll have to stay overnight for observation, though."

"Can we see him?" Greg asked, standing from his chair.

The doctor nodded and led the worried pair into Sherlock's hospital room. The consulting detective was awake and staring around the room in disgust.

"I see no reason why I have to stay," he said, "I'm perfectly okay."

"You bloody moron," John shouted, storming up to Sherlock angrily, "You promised me you were clean!"

"I was," Sherlock stated with indifference.

"Then why would you use again?!" John demanded.

"I was bored," Sherlock told the lie without hesitation.

John stared down at the consulting detective, not believing him for a moment. Over the past two years, Sherlock had been _bored_ plenty of times. Each time had resulted in a few more bullet holes in their wall, but not once had Sherlock succumbed to using again.

"It was Donovan and Anderson, wasn't it? Their comments at the crime scene this morning."

"No," Sherlock lied again, but John saw the hurt in Sherlock's eyes, "Why would their comments upset me? I don't care what people think, you know that, John."

Rather than argue, the doctor just sat on Sherlock's bed and pulled the other man into a tight hug.

"You scared me," John muttered, burying his face in Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock's face turned pink. Hesitantly, he placed a hand on top of John's head.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

From the doorway, Greg smiled at the flatmates, his expression full of admiration and fatherly affection.

"You two make a lovely couple," he said in a teasing tone.

"Shove off, Lestrade," Sherlock said, but his expression betrayed him, telling Greg that there was no hostility in the words.

John pulled away from Sherlock and stood up, looking embarrassed.

"Right," he said, fixing his jumper nervously, "I'm going to stay overnight with Sherlock, Greg."

Greg nodded. "I'd stay, but I have work in…" he glanced at his watch, "…5 hours. I need a bit more sleep."

"It's fine," John smiled, "Thank you for your help…without it, I…I don't know what would have happened." He threw a worried glance at Sherlock, who simply looked around the room in guilt.

Greg said his goodbyes, giving Sherlock a hug, and left the hospital. John sat in a chair next to Sherlock's bed and propped his head up with his arm. Sherlock noted that he looked ridiculously tired.

"You don't have to stay, you know," the detective said, "I'll live, John."

"You're insane if you think I'm leaving you alone," John said, "Get some sleep, Sherlock."

Sherlock smiled at his companion before settling in the bed and slowly falling into a dreamless sleep. All night, John stayed awake watching his friend, determined that no harm should come to him again. He was equally determined to wring Donovan and Anderson's neck the next time he saw them.

**Le sigh. So it's not my best work. But I've been working on this dang thing for days (curse you, writer's block), and I'm relatively happy with how it came out. Feedback would be brilliant. :)**


End file.
